Prime
by FACELESSWRITER11
Summary: Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy fanfiction, detailing the untouched relationship of Mr. Guillam and its slow descent. A lie can hold a card but surely cannot withstand the weight of another, soon all lies will be seen through and those you try to protect will see secrets you wished they never had. Why is there no section for this? Rated T for future chapters if this is ever read. Thanks.


**I actually have no idea how I came to write this. I do not even know if there is a section for Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy. I do suppose there is only one way to find out. But I was so interested as to Peter and his unnamed lover. **

**Now, firstly, this is written based on the movie. Secondly, the name of Herbert Contrary is a name I adapted myself as Guillam's boyfriend was never titled (or was not to my knowledge). If he has an official name, alert me so and I will change it as soon as I can. If you just do not like the name Herbert Contrary, well tough shit. In this story, that is his name. **

**Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy was written by John le Carre, a brilliantly talented writer. The movie of this novel was directed by a man who did it superbly (his name escapes me). All I am getting at is that I do not own it.**

**Please enjoy this boring piece. XXX **

It was not an odd occurrence that Herbert Contrary tripped over a single shined shoe in the middle of the doorway; however having stumbled and caught his foot on a second no sooner left him mildly confused. His partner was all for evenly placed shoes however it seemed his keen eye remained at work rather than home, and today was not the the exception. Upon closer inspection by the casual policeman, there was a pair of two fairly well trimmed shoes and a single sock scattered evenly across the small hallway, as if someone had pulled them off insistently as they walked.

_How very odd, _thought Herbert and looking down the hallway noticed another item of clothing that surely must have belonged to his partner. Placing the mail upon the table under his keys on the table, Herbert ventured further to find the expensive coat bought only last spring crumpled in a heap next to the television. The initials –stitched in by a hand not familiar with the art of needle work- stated P.G in crooked letters. The policeman by occupation could not help but smile and call out "Peter?"

There was no reply, with the trail of miscellaneous garments providing as the only answer. Next there was a pastel blue tie attempting to crawl over the coffee table and then followed the other sock leading to the bedroom.

Herbert laughed softly and looked towards their bedroom, with the door slightly ajar and a golden cufflink twinkling in the twilight upon the varnished floor. Upon pushing open the door with the quietness of a timid mouse, he was witness to Peter Guillam, lying face down on the shared bed and sleeping.

_Must this happen again? _Herbert asked himself, and strode to the window to pull both curtains open wide. The sleeping man made a whimper of a noise and buried his head deeper into the mattress.

"And how much overtime did you take this time, Peter?" Herbert asked and pulled open the second curtains along quite violently. This seemed to well and truly pierce the sleep dazed grogginess over the younger man, whose grumble could be translated into "Not that long"

"It surely was" Herbert replied "You look dead, and are acting it too" and sat on the left side of the bed to look at his partner, whose one visible eye looked up at him. It was blue and matched his tie perfectly. Was that why he had bought it? It was hard to say. Peter sometimes did the most remarkable of things without having realized. It was such a blue that exposed emotion as a musician does in his instrument. Herbert tried desperately to keep the blue in his eyes the colour of the sky and avoid such tempest blues that were accompanied by haughty seas and rough times. Those were always a strain upon their… partnership, and however much Peter avoided and dismissed the fact, he was a very sensitive person.

"You must not keep doing this to yourself, Peter. Surely you will die at forty"

"Don't be unrealistic. I am fine. Don't I get a hello anymore?"

Herbert took a huffed sigh and picked up the letter upon his own bedside table. It was a letter from a friend long ago, who had seemed it humble to get back in touch either in gold hearted goodness or simple mockery. The 'friend' –named Geoffrey Sanford- had a wife and two children, who were his pride and joy. Herbert had read the letter four times during the breakfast it arrived upon, and still had not a clue as to what to reply with. It was not that he had nothing to return with, as his successes in occupation gave him more pleasure than the smiling face of a child with his nose and hair or a golden band imprisoning his life. The idea of writing back made a pit in his stomach, and he had not real idea why. Was it because… no, that was absurd. It was a mere letter from a friend he would not recognize off the street from another. He folded the letter unevenly and forced it to the very back of his drawer to escape from his sight beneath other papers he had done the same with. If he ever got the unwanted pleasure of running into the 'old friend', he would act foolish and bug eyed, saying he never received such a letter. Yes, that shall work.

"What's that?" Peter queried as he let out a yawn and looked towards the clock. Had the time passed so fast? He had only slept for an hour and he was already behind schedule. Maybe Herbert was right and he would simply drop dead at forty.

"Business, my dear Peter"

"Ah, I see" and neither of the men made an attempt to rise from the warm bed. Outside, the cold tinted the windows and inside the warmth steamed them. It was a lovely humble nest of a room with a constant battle between cleanliness and convenience. Herbert's papers, meant only for the eyes of other officers, lay on a modest stack on his desk with a fountain pen neatly placed beside, being flicked through many times by Mr. Guillam. The room always smelt of a wooden desk newly furnished in sharp winter air but however much the policeman by occupation tried, the bed remained slept in and never well kept. Even when he made it with every soul in the apartment –himself and Peter- having left, he would return to see it slept in with the sheets upturned and the pillows littered in various places. It was almost like a game the two had, that they would never title as a game. Now was no exception. Peter was half in and halfway out of the sheets with his trousers and formal shirt with one cufflink remaining still upon his being. It was a disastrous but endearing sight.

"Wake up, Peter" he asked and placed a hand upon the others back and gently shook. The addressed man groaned and made no attempt to stand.

"Why?" Peter asked; which he knew was a damned stupid question. He had to be back within the Circus in two hours, no more and no less. If he wasted time lazing the lions above would surely bite off his head, they already gave him looks of thorough bitterness for being young and assumedly lecherous and reckless in his decisions. Plus there was the addition of Smiley, who had been demanding his presence on seemingly ordinary jobs that were laced with secrecy, after having left the Circus with Control what seemed like a lifetime ago. It was only a matter of time –weeks, months or a year at the most- before he was informed of the title of the tension within the air of the Circus. The fingers on his back drew acute lines, each an equal distance apart, across his spinal cord.

"If you don't get up, I can't kiss you" Herbert muttered.

Peter groaned and leaned up to face the man he currently shared a bed with. Herbert looked at him with a small smile that he tried to keep hidden. Surprisingly, Herbert was quite pleased with life itself. He demanded nothing too greatly and treasured his knowledge like an unborn son. His light face displayed that. It was not weighed down, rather waiting to be; he expected tragedy from a content life, the loss of his job, his life or his lovers. Peter leaned forward to deliver a quick but soft kiss to the others lips before collapsing once again, this time crawling into the bed still fully clothed. Herbert hid his amusement with a mask of seriousness. Sometimes the man could be incredibly childish.

"This work will kill you! Surely the job of a banker cannot take up so much of your time and leave you with so little sleep"

Guillam softly chuckled at hearing his lie's gears turning smoothly. _Telling Herbert of what I do is firstly not recommended upon all levels, and secondly it places me and more importantly him in danger if something were to ever occur. _And such situations had occurred, although long before Herbert had arrived in his life.Thinking of such a downbeat plan made his face mediocre once more. That plan, the only plan. It had its own title. He knew it, in fact he did not dare touch it unless completely necessary. It was a grenade that was only to be pulled when the bullets ran low and his wounds gushed with equal losses. He did not dare place his finger in the pin, but it did not stray far from it.

_There is always a chance that something will occur and I will have to send Herbert away, for his own safety, however much it pains me. Either that or disappear myself without a word's notice, and leave him guessing for the rest of time as to why I left and if I still loved him and ever did. _

"Peter!"

"Yes?"

Herbert snickered and walked off into the en suite and turned both taps. Peter tried to dismiss the Circus and simply **sleep. **However those who live by Circus die by the same means. It was a constant toothache of the head and in less than five minutes he had thrown himself out of bed. He ripped the sheets off to let the fresh air invade the warm cocoon he had made. It was four twenty five in the afternoon and Peter Guillam was once again living a double life.

"Where is my tie?"

"It's in the lounge. You'll find the rest of your clothes following it"

Herbert heard his partner stumbling through the hallway to retrieve his belongings and return the tidiness to its natural state. He carefully picked up the razor, dousing it with water and gently running it across his stubbled skin. The sensation of renewal pleased and calmed him. His reflection looked back at him, simply shaving with no deeper meaning; shaving like most men did. There was a small scar on his neck, paler than the rest that had come from careless shaving at the age of fourteen. Another was between the thumb and index finger on his left hand; a burn achieved from idiocy in teenage years. And then there was his eye, after being stabbed so harshly -accidently with the end of an umbrella- only last year. It seemed that eye would never see such colours the other did. What a terrible shame.

Peter entered the bathroom while attaching his right cufflink awkwardly. His eyes were focused downwards but momentarily flicked towards the mirror to exchange looks with Herbert, who had stopped shaving to witness the ordinary occurrence. Peter's hair was a colour he could not name, wavering between a ginger red and a strawberry blonde. He was at even height with Herbert despite his younger age and had spidery hands that always seemed to be fiddling with something. He had no scars worth speaking of, not that Herbert had seen. He had seen him in a fairly intimate way during nights when curtains he tore open would be ripped closed. All men had a scar that could not be overlooked or many, but Peter was once again an exception to the rule. His skin was evenly toned and his back was that of unmarred skin and unusual perfection. Only the occasional blemish was all that plagued his skin.

_A man with no scars is a man with something to hide. _Herbert wondered where he had read such a macabre piece of prose. Surely it was nothing but the vanity of a writer's skill, showing it off in such philosophically false queries that women swooned at and men tutted. 

_However, there is no smoke without fire, _Herbert thought, and looked towards his partner, _and now that I think about it…_

"Do you have any siblings?" he asked and looked towards Peter.

The younger man stopped what he was doing and looked towards Herbert in confusion.

"Why ask?"

"Because of the simple reasoning that I want to know"

Guillam paused a moment before responding.

"I have an older brother, Benjamin, who is simply a cousin" he began and felt a slight discomfort doing so, "he was left by his parents and my mother felt obliged to look after him. At such an age, I acknowledged him as my brother, and that is how it has always been. We were devils with our behaviour.

"I am sure you weren't"

"Oh but we were!" Peter added and grinned quite happily. Herbert smiled at his partner's sudden leap in excitement. His eyes shone an acrylic blue that could be used to paint the sky. "We were absolute hellers together! I am surprised my mother did not send us away for some of the things we did"

"And where is he now?"

Peter left the room before he had answered, muttering 'wallet' under his breath and swearing he had tossed it onto the bed sheets before his short slumber. Herbert had to walk after him to simply pull the answer from it.

"Peter"

It was rushed and muttered, a 'we lost touch' and the magical mirage of his idyllic childhood was no more than a common tragedy. Guillam seemed far from bothered and more concerned in the location of his things he had left lying around.

Peter looked at the clock. _If I set off now, I will make it with five minutes to spare. If I leave without my wallet, surely that will lead to a problem._

Herbert looked at Peter. _I have always thought to know so much about you, Peter. Yet it seems I know nothing at all, or what I know is not what I need to know. Why is that? _

"You look a picture" he grinned as Peter stumbled into the room, tying one shoe hurriedly and shaking the drowsiness from himself "A very tired picture whose tardiness has left the back of his shirt unironed"

"You should do it, Herbert. You are better at ironing" Guillam laughed and touched the other's arm softly.

"I am not your wife, Peter"

"As I am not yours, my darling"

And with the brisk flush of air between the doorway and the doorframe and a haste kiss placed upon Herbert's cheek he was gone. All the pieces of the attire puzzle were taken and only a dormant silence remained. When the lover of Mr. Guillam placed down his razor it was almost deafening. The bed was still a pig's sty; a result from Peter's searching and sleeping. The room was how it always was, as yesterday and tomorrow. Yet it seemed different. It felt as if Herbert peered under the bed he would find not only dust and lint but something more sinister.

Hebert had a small ache in his stomach, once dormant and now fuelled on doubt. A man who had been his adorned bedfellow now seemed secretive in a way. Mr. Contrary smothered the feeling with his daily list of things to do and once again picked up the razor. He hummed a tune he hadn't sung since he was very young and continued on.

**There is something about two names is this and being linked in a certain way. If you know what it is, you get a gold star and a cookie. I hope you enjoyed this story, and leave a review if you like. I read all my comments and reply to them. **

**Thank you! XXX**


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